


Just Enough

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Related, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-06
Updated: 2009-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:06:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sheppard was bound to be in an emotional state of some sort or other after what he'd been through, or at least in stoic denial thereof, and Rodney was no good at all at dealing with other people's messy emotions.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kriadydragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriadydragon/gifts).



> ...whose H/C I adore. I meant to make her an H/C of my own, but it came out strange. :)

When Sheppard came back from Earth after his father's funeral, Rodney was busy in the lab working on a shield amplifier idea he'd come up with on the Kid Planet, so he missed it. In fact, he didn't get to see Sheppard for another three days, which made it three weeks total.

A small, shameful part of him felt relieved; Sheppard was bound to be in an emotional state of some sort or other after what he'd been through, or at least in stoic denial thereof, and Rodney was no good at all at dealing with other people's messy emotions.

Mostly, though, he felt guilty. Ronon had gone with him. Ronon had probably been manly and gruffly sympathetic and helpful in all the ways Rodney couldn't be. Probably offered to shoot something for him, just for the lift.

But Sheppard was Rodney's best friend, insomuch as Rodney had friends and not just people who tolerated him and let him join them for meals or suffered his presence during movie-watching and, really, Sheppard was better off without the added stress of Rodney flipping out on him over trying to help him deal with his grief. Emotions—truly messy things, really. Entropy at its worst. Better to steer clear.

Rodney told himself that, anyway, but then he ran into Sheppard in the mess hall while making an evening snack raid.

And Sheppard looked, well, broken.

Not in any obvious way—no red nose or puffy eyes—but he looked...hollowed out. Like he'd lost something. Well, obviously he _had_ lost something, or someone, to be precise, but they'd lost a lot of people over the last couple of years, and this seemed different.

"Er, hello, Colonel."

John slowly raised his head. "Hey, McKay."

Just as Rodney had suspected would happen, he had absolutely no idea what to say next. And it was obvious, from the way Sheppard was looking up at him, that he expected _something_ , either a sympathetic word or a thoughtful emotional insight—both of which Rodney had never held in great abundance—and here was Rodney, hovering in front of the table and absolutely tongue-tied.

God, Sheppard needed him and he was screwing up.

"Well," Rodney said, taking a step back, "I'll just—I'm going to go—"

"I brought some stuff back from Earth," Sheppard said suddenly, almost blurting it out.

"Oh, yes? Like what?"

"Just, you know—" Sheppard scratched the back of his head. "Some DVDs. Battlestar Galactica, the original series. You know the one with—"

"Lorne Greene, Richard Hatch, Dirk Benedict—"

"From the A-Team, yeah—"

"Daggits, clunky silver cylons, and blonde socialators."

Sheppard smirked suddenly, but lost the smile right afterward, like he wasn't quite able to keep it up.

Rodney clapped his hands together. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go."

"'Kay."

The walk back to Sheppard's quarters was accomplished in a complete silence, something Rodney had never thought himself capable of, but now felt _in_ capable of breaking. And the longer it went on, the tenser John appeared to be.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all. Maybe Rodney just didn't have what it took to be a good friend. Oh, sure, when the chips were down and the city was melting all around them, he had the chops to accomplish what needed to be done. He always had the brainpower to find a solution. But the heart power—that was something he didn't have in great supply, apparently.

He was a terrible friend. The worst.

Sheppard's bags weren't even unpacked, still just sitting on the floor beside his bed even though it had been days since his return. Sheppard kicked one of them off to the side and bent to unzip the other. Pulling out a short stack of DVD cases, he separated a thick one shaped like a silver cylon head.

"I see you bought the special anniversary edition."

"Yeah." Sheppard dropped down onto his bed and then just sat there with the case in his hands.

After a long moment, Rodney cleared his throat and said, "Did you bring back any of your watery American beer?"

Sheppard nodded slowly and then got up and dropped the case on the bed. Walking over to his mini-fridge, he said, "First thing I unpacked."

 _And apparently nothing else,_ Rodney thought. "Thanks," he said, taking the offered beer. "Pete's Wicked Ale. Not the most terrible brew."

The joke felt stilted and stupid, and maybe Sheppard thought so, too, because he just stood there, beer unopened in his hand.

"I guess I'm not in the mood for watching anything," he said finally.

"No. No, me neither."

Sheppard flicked him a look and opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Rodney sighed and started to hand back the beer. "Maybe another evening." God, he sounded so formal, as if he were attending one of his long-dead mother's tea parties.

"Don't—" Sheppard cut himself off, shaking his head. "Okay. I guess I'll see you later."

Rodney's heart ached. Sheppard obviously didn't want him to leave, in spite of the pathetic show Rodney was making in trying to cheer him. This was just excruciating. Rodney opened his beer and took a drink, then took a longer one, the silence stretching out between them again like a wormhole.

And Sheppard kept _looking_ at him, quick glances. Waiting.

Finally, Rodney broke. "I—Sheppard, I don't know how to help." It was a relief to say it out loud. "I mean, I know I'm supposed to be, I don't know, I suppose _comforting_ is the word, though why anyone would expect me, of all people, to—"

"Stop it—"

"I could—I could go get Teyla. If you wanted to talk—"

"I don't want Teyla." Sheppard face twisted, his hand clenching around his beer bottle as if he needed to hold onto something.

"But I just—I don't know what to _say_ ," Rodney confessed.

Sheppard blew out a sigh. "You don't have to say anything." He sat on the foot of his bed, the DVD case sliding toward him. Reaching backward, he picked it up then tossed it back into his bag. "Just—have a seat, Rodney."

Rodney sat down on the chair by the foot of the bed and then looked questioningly at Sheppard.

"Kick back. Drink your beer. Tell me about—what's been happening." Sheppard shrugged. "Just, you know...talk." His eyes pleaded with Rodney.

And suddenly Rodney got it.

He felt foolish, actually—he should have known Sheppard didn't want him to fix this. He wouldn't want platitudes where there were none. It was a very rare occasion Sheppard asked something of him that Rodney couldn't give. This wasn't one of those times. This was just—

"Well, of course, while you were gone, Colonel Carter decided it would be the perfect time to recalibrate the sensor array, which meant people who very much _don't_ enjoy heights had to climb the central tower access and hang ass-over-teakettle into the wind making fine adjustments to delicate equipment. It's just the sort of situation where having a death-defying, wall-climbing flyboy would have come in very handy..."

—them.

Sheppard settled back onto his elbows, his beer still in one hand, and smirked a little. The lines of tension on his face slowly eased as Rodney kept talking—about anything, about everything, just like always.

And every so often, John would smile. Just a little. Just often enough that Rodney knew it was okay.

He was enough.

  
 _End._   



End file.
